


Shelter

by project_icarus



Series: Mouse Trap [1]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, First Time, POV Third Person Limited, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Sex, no y/n
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:08:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22959193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/project_icarus/pseuds/project_icarus
Summary: She’s wanted him since she first saw him, in his white lab coat and black sunglasses, and she never once thought he’d look twice at her, but she’s tried her hardest to make herself useful to him. Maybe he’s noticed. Or he’s just looking for a way to blow off steam. Either way works in her favour.
Relationships: Albert Wesker/Reader
Series: Mouse Trap [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666318
Comments: 6
Kudos: 108





	Shelter

She stands there in the pouring rain without an umbrella, shivering, hoping against hope that her bus is still coming. The raindrops thump into the sidewalk with all the force of a thousand ice-cold bullets, and though she’s safe now under the little awning of the bus stop, the short walk here from the Umbrella labs had her soaked through in seconds.

The pummelling of the rain on the bus stop’s roof is relentless, and her right knee has developed its own shiver, jittering as if independent from the rest of her body. This is the last time she trusts the weatherman, that’s for sure. From now on, she’s bringing an umbrella with her everywhere she goes.

Cars streak by, hissing through puddles, their edges smudged and softened by the filter of water cascading from the black sky, lit only by the orange glow of the streetlights. Still, no sign of her bus home.

A black Rolls Royce like the one Dr Wesker drives signals in her direction and crawls up to the curb beside her. The passenger-side window lowers, and she peers inside despite herself.

“Get in before you drown.” Dr Wesker raises his voice to be heard over the downpour, and even through the pattering of rain, his impatience is clear.

Before she can think about it, she dashes the short distance to his car and wrenches the door open with frozen fingers. She closes it behind her with a bump, winds the window back up, and at once the heated interior puts an end to her shivering. “Thank you so much, sir.”

He nods and turns his attention back to the road, peeling away from the curb and re-joining the traffic. “Where do you live?”

She gives him her address as she fastens her seatbelt, and he flicks the switch for the heated seating. The kind gesture throws her for a loop, warming her inside as much as out, and as she gazes at the swirling pattern of the rain on the window, she smiles to herself.

She likes to think she’s got to know him a little after being part of his research team the last few weeks, and she’s had an inkling he’s not always as cold and standoffish as he is at work. God knows she’s not been a good judge of character in the past, so it’s nice to be right every once in a while.

The windshield wipers are working double time, but no sooner have they cleared a stripe to see through than the splats of rain distort and warp the visibility of the road again. She’s safe in here with Dr Wesker, though. It’s strange, but she’d trust him to drive her home through a blizzard.

Thunder rumbles, and there’s the flash of lightning in the sky before all is dark again, the rain dancing in the headlights, falling like a swarm of shiny spiders.

“I’m lucky you came along when you did,” she says, her voice jarring in the quiet.

“Can’t have you taking time off sick because you caught pneumonia. We’re far enough behind as it is.” His voice might seem uncaring on the surface, but beneath that he’s just bone tired, she can tell.

That’s right. Her most recent report had detailed the disproportionate mortality rate of their live test subjects. He’d scowled when he read the results; moving onto human testing now would be downright messy. Since then there’s been a permanent line wedged between his brows, and the clench of his jaw is so tight it looks painful.

He’s similar now, with his shoulders ramrod straight, and the hard line of his mouth downturned into a frown. If only there was something she could do for him…

It comes to her as her eyes fall to his hands on the steering wheel. They’re nice—elegant, even—well maintained and smooth-looking, even though she knows (thanks to laboratory scuttlebutt) that he’s not long returned from a tour of duty with the army.

What would it be like to have him touch her with those hands? It’s not the first time she’s imagined it. She’s not the only one, either; the office spinsters that take care of admin tasks like to gossip over by the watercooler, whispering about how handsome Dr Wesker is and wondering why he doesn’t have a wife.

And for good reason. He’s gorgeous, tall and strong, with not one blond hair out of place and glowing skin that speaks of a dedicated skincare routine. He has amazing genes. Plus, he’s a genius, and if the car she’s sitting in is any indication, he’s kind of rich too.

“Stop staring at me.” He grants her a sidelong glance while they’re stuck at an unchanging red light.

“Sorry!” She looks down at her lap, cowed, a flush rising in her cheeks.

The tension in his muscles radiates off him, and he’ll never let her give him a shoulder rub, but there’s something he _might_ let her do, if she approaches it just right…

Before she has the chance to ponder what the right way could be, he’s turning onto her street and pulling into the parking lot of her apartment building.

“Thank you again for the ride. You really rescued me.” She looks through the fogged-up window, imagining she can see up to her apartment from here. Her room’s up there somewhere. Her bed.

“Just try not to make a habit of it.” He looks at her, bored, waiting for her to take her leave. The streetlamp nearby illuminates the two of them, their profiles cast in orange and black.

Her hands tighten to fists for a second, before releasing again. “Do you… do you want to come up?”

He blinks at her, and it’s the first time she’s ever seen him surprised. Her insides twist up in confused knots as she waits for him to answer, and she can’t help the dirty slip of excitement enticed in her at the prospect of him saying _yes_.

He rolls his neck and shoulders, perhaps considering, and then he unbuckles his seatbelt. He turns to her, showing his teeth in a wolfish grin. “All right.”

A relieved laugh forces its way out of her, and she smiles. “Okay then.”

She fumbles with her own seatbelt, her haste making her fingers clumsy and uncooperative. Is it embarrassing to be this eager? Damn it, she still can’t get the clasp to work!

He scoffs and leans over the gap between the seats, crowding into her personal space. She holds her breath, pinned in place, and he unfastens her from her seat with dextrous fingers.

“Thanks,” she whispers, and he lingers there, so close. Is he going to kiss her?

He doesn’t. Instead, he backs away and turns off the engine, then opens the car door. The muted sizzle of the rain outside once again roars to full volume, and he has to bellow over the cacophony. “Come on, let’s go.”

She follows him into the deluge, the two of them ducking the raindrops like sniper-fire, and she sidesteps him to lead the way around to the building’s entrance. They step inside the lobby, dripping head-to-toe onto the industrial carpet, and she punches the button to call the elevator.

It’s insane to see him in her territory like this, stranger still with his bedraggled appearance and messy hair. Well, ‘messy’ is an objective term; strands of his golden hair are coming loose from their hold, falling over his forehead and to the side. Next to him she’s a drowned rat, her hair frizzing around the edges and her makeup smudged.

There’s no small talk as they stand shoulder to shoulder in the elevator, climbing floors slow as molasses, and her palms are sweating. She’s too conscious of her breathing. Can he hear her huffing away beside him? In the little tin box of the elevator, the scent of the amber-musk in his cologne is bright on his damp skin, and it’s making her knees weak.

Is she making a huge mistake here? There’s never ever been a story about someone sleeping with their boss that has a happy ending, and this could screw with her career just as it’s becoming promising, but _god._ She’s wanted him since she first saw him, in his white lab coat and black sunglasses, and she never once thought he’d look twice at her, but she’s tried her hardest to make herself useful to him. Maybe he’s noticed. Or he’s just looking for a way to blow off steam. Either way works in her favour.

They arrive at her floor, and she reaches down between them to take his hand in hers. The warmth of his palm is surprising, like she’d expected him to be crafted in cold marble, but more curious is how he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t hold her hand back or anything, but he allows her to lead him out of the elevator and along the hallways to her apartment.

She has to drop his hand when they reach her door so she can find her keys, and he slides his hands into the pockets of his long coat. She fits the key into the lock on the second try, and opens the door, stepping inside and turning on the light. He enters after her, giving the place a cursory glance as he stands there in her kitchen.

Thank god she’s not home long enough these days to make a mess.

She locks them in, then shrugs out of her dripping jacket and hangs it up behind the door. He follows suit, and that’s when her hands shake. This is real. This is happening.

They stand a few feet apart, and just as she realises she’s staring at the way his black turtleneck fits to his broad chest, she catches him eyeing her in much the same way. She glances down at herself and flushes. The downpour soaked her blouse to transparency, stuck to her like a second skin, and the details of her black lacy bra can be seen beneath the surface.

Dr Wesker is staring at her tits. He is just a man, after all.

He’s carved in ice before her, but his eyes blaze, and all it would take is for her to step into his arms and he’d hold her, but she can’t. She’s rooted to the spot, the enormity of the moment hitting her all at once.

Maybe her face betrays her, because he smirks, and closes the distance between them in two quick strides, corralling her into the side of her refrigerator. She looks up at him with wide eyes, and his gaze is so piercing it’s like she’s being ripped open and laid bare.

“Lost your nerve, little mouse?” he says, so close she could lick his lips if she just extended her tongue.

“No.” She throws her arms around his neck and crushes her mouth to his in a desperate kiss.

He grunts, and grips her by the waist, tugging her body in towards his, kissing her with more tenacity than tenderness. She twines her tongue with his, harsh and wet, and swept along for the ride. His kisses never give an inch, and it’s all she can do to keep up with him. His body is all sharp angles and solid muscle, no more forgiving than the refrigerator at her back. She’s trapped, a lab mouse in a maze, but she’ll not search for the exit anytime soon.

He’s so tall, and even though he’s ducked his head to kiss her, she still has to draw herself up onto her toes, balanced by his strong hold on her waist and her fingers at the nape of his neck. He twists away from the kiss and her embrace, pinning her to the fridge with his sharp hips, his hands coming up to pop the buttons on her blouse. His eyes burn into her as he reveals more of her skin, and he shoves the drenched garment down her arms. She wriggles out of it and lets it land on the kitchen tiles with a splat.

His fingers find the concealed zipper of her little office skirt with startling ease, tugging it down and opening the clasp, shoving the fabric down past her hips. It pools at her ankles and she steps out of it, then toes off her shoes, leaving her in her bra, matching panties, and sheer black tights.

Her skin is prickly with goose bumps, but it’s not because of the torrent outside. “My um…”

“Your ‘um?’” He cocks his head to the side, his eyes shining with teasing malice.

Her cheeks burn. “My _bedroom_ is this way.” She turns and leads the way across the hall, swinging her hips as she does so.

The room is lit by the scant starlight forcing its way through the stormy clouds, reflecting in the little raindrops that cover the entirety of the window. Her heart beats like thunder in her chest as she waits for him to follow her, very much a trembling little mouse being stalked by some sleek predator.

He enters the room after her, appearing behind her and unsnapping her bra, winding his arms around her middle to push the lacy fabric away, his solid, still-clothed chest pressed against her back. His hands slide up to squeeze her breasts, her nipples pebbled against his palms, his teeth grazing her throat and his breath hot in her ear. “I want you to get on your knees and suck my cock. Will you do that for me?”

He had her at ‘I want you.’

“Yes,” she whispers into the dark.

He turns her around and applies an insistent pressure to her shoulders until she sinks to her knees on the bedroom carpet. His belt buckle clicks, and the sound of his pants zipper opening makes her tremble inside, and then one of his perfect hands reaches in and pulls out his perfect cock, half-hard and just made to be in her mouth.

She braces herself with her hands on his thighs, opens her mouth wide and takes him in, sucking him down to the root in one smooth motion. He huffs his breath, and his cock is already pulsing and growing against her tongue. She seals her lips around him, hollows her cheeks, and sucks hard as she pulls off, then dives straight back in to do it all over again.

He brushes her hair from her face, his fingers curling around her skull, and he uses his grip to direct her movements. He’s not rough, just firm, guiding her head back and forth at a steady pace. She lets him take all the control he wants to, she’ll sit here and suck him dry, placid as he fucks her face until he comes down her throat, if that’s what it takes to relieve some of his stress.

His cock is hot between her lips as she presses a French kiss to the tip, before he nudges her face down again and she swallows him in deep. He’s silent for the most part, breathing a little heavier than before, the only evidence he’s enjoying her mouth at all being how hard and thick his cock has become over the last few minutes.

The one thing she has any control over is her own breathing, and she times it with the motions of his hands on her head and the thrusting of his hips, as he picks up his pace, not giving her a moment of respite. She opens her eyes, chancing a look upwards, and finds his eyes boring into her.

She can’t help it, she swallows around him, startled, and the minute change in his expression this causes makes her moan. Will she ever see him lose his composure?

He smirks, something sinister lurking in his eyes that only serves to make her more aroused, and he tightens his grip on her hair. He pushes his hips forwards, forcing her head down at the same time, pressuring her to suck him all the way in, and holding her there until she gags. Tears leak out of the corners of her eyes, but she doesn’t try to pull away. Instead, she swallows again.

This time his reaction is more visible; his eyes fall closed, and he grits his teeth, nostrils flaring. She nurtures the sense of muddy pride this seeds, locked away in her heart.

“Do you have protection?” His voice is rough.

She nods as much as she can with her lips around his cock and his hands in her hair, humming an affirmative ‘uh-huh’ with her mouth full.

Without warning, he pulls her off his cock and divests himself of his black sweater. “Get on the bed. Hands and knees.” He nods his head towards the bed in question.

She scrambles to obey, and it’s only when she’s on the comforter with her head down and ass up that she realises she’s still wearing her tights. She should have gone with stay ups.

“Don’t move,” he says when she shifts to roll the waistband of her pantyhose down.

She freezes, but inside she’s nothing but a molten core of want. No one’s ever ordered her around like this before, and she’s getting a taste for it. He’s commanding and sure, and she can’t imagine refusing him anything—a thought that both terrifies and excites her.

He finishes undressing behind her, and she wishes she could see him, but he hasn’t told her she can look, so she doesn’t. The mattress dips as he adds his weight to it, and she holds her breath, waiting for him to touch her.

He grabs two handfuls of the fabric of her tights, ripping them straight down the seam at the back.

She gasps. “They were expensive!”

“You’d look better in stockings.” He tugs her panties aside and slides two fingers into her slick pussy.

She moans, protests forgotten, pushing back against him and clenching her core tight without even meaning to. It’s been so long since she’s felt anyone’s fingers but her own, she’d forgotten how much she could crave this.

He pumps his fingers, and with his other hand he shoves her thighs further apart.

“Please.” She doesn’t know what she’s begging for, but she wants him to give it to her, anyway.

“Please what?” He sounds amused, and his fingers never pause in their rhythm, slow and steady, just enough to make her writhe.

_Fuck me._ It’s right on the tip of her tongue, but can she make herself say it? She hides her heated face in the pillows, battling with herself, her embarrassment winning, when he uses his thumb to rub her clit. She whines, rolling her hips with his hand, arousal clouding her senses.

“Please _what?”_ He crooks his fingers, tracing over her g-spot and making her sigh.

“Please, just fuck me.” She can’t stand this slow-burn build up anymore. She’ll self-combust.

He chuckles and withdraws his fingers. “Where are your condoms?”

“In here.” She reaches out and pulls open her bedside drawer, scrabbling through the junk in there until she finds the unopened box tucked at the back.

He takes it from her, and when she turns her head, she catches sight of him naked for the first time. He’s lean and fit, and without question the hottest scientist she’s ever seen. She hides her face again, so he doesn’t see the stupid swooning expression she’s wearing.

“I almost expected these to be out of date,” he says before ripping open the packaging.

“So did I.” She laughs into the pillow, breathless, as she imagines him rolling a condom onto his gorgeous cock, the slick sounds of the latex fuelling her fantasy.

His hand is on her hip, and something wet prods her thigh, setting her shivering with desire. He lines himself up with her core, and there’s the unrelenting pressure of his cock stretching her open.

_“Ah!”_ She cries out, holding still as he presses inside as far as he can, her cunt fitting him like a glove one size too small, and he doesn’t stop pushing until his hips are flush with her ass.

He groans, a deep, rich sound that sends her quivering around him, and plants both of his hands on her hips, his fingertips biting into her skin. It only takes his first two thrusts for her to warm up to him, her pussy relaxing and relieving any discomfort, and then she’s grinding back against him, meeting him in each harsh pump of his hips.

“Good girl,” he growls, trailing the fingers of one hand down her back before grabbing a handful of her ass, never wavering from his slow and steady pace.

The affirmation makes her feel so deliciously dirty. She’s still wearing her tattered tights, and he shoved her lacy panties aside just enough to make room for him to fuck her—like he couldn’t contain himself long enough to undress her all the way. No one’s ever desired her like that. She wants to be good for him. To be an angel for him. His slave.

He leans over her back, one of his hands by her head, the other claiming her waist, and presses a hot kiss to her shoulder as he speeds up the rutting of his hips.

She moans into the pillow, her fingers clutching at the bedsheets, consumed by the constant waves of pleasure cascading over her each and every time he sheathes himself in her tight cunt. Her head turns to the side, her mouth hanging open for her to breathe better, and her eyes follow the progress of a bead of sweat slipping down the flexing muscle of Dr Wesker’s arm, lit by moonlight. It slides around his wrist and out of sight. She wants to find it again and lick it up.

His hand disappears from her waist and tangles in her hair, tugging until she cranes her neck, giving him access to latch on and suck a mark into the skin there.

“Fuck.” She keens as he ghosts his teeth across her throat.

He pulls her hair again, turning her head to an awkward angle so he can find her mouth, his tongue curling against her own in a messy kiss.

Their bodies grind together, and they drive each other closer and closer to orgasm, movements becoming harsh and hurried. He releases her hair at last, tugs her hips up higher where she’s started to slide down onto the bed from the force of his fucking, and slips his hand around to glide his fingers through the silky wetness of her pussy.

She coos for him when he strokes her clit, her cunt tightening around his cock. He groans in response, and the momentum of his thrusts stutters.

“You’d better come for me,” he says into her ear, his voice low and dangerous. His fingers speed up against her clit.

“Oh, _god.”_

“You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you, mouse? Anything I asked. No matter how dirty your hands would get.”

“Yes.” And the sad part is, it’s true.

The pads of his fingers are furious against her centre. “That’s all I want from you.”

She’s right on the brink, her eyes scrunched shut, pleasure popping behind her eyelids like tv static, and all at once her climax hits her, bright like the lightning outside. She moans, warmth flooding her veins and zapping all the tension from her limbs, making her a limp ragdoll as he fucks her into the mattress, chasing down his own completion.

His body blankets hers, his weight bearing down on her and squeezing the air from her lungs, the pace of his hips punishing and his breath panting in her ear. He stills finally, and such a husky, low moan draws from him it causes her to spasm around him all over again, making his hips judder.

He pulls out at once, and then his weight disappears from the mattress altogether as he gets up. “Bathroom?”

She points with an exhausted arm. “Through there.”

She uses the few moments he’s gone to right herself on the bed, frowning when she realises they fucked on top of the sheets, and takes stock. There’s no rush of guilt or regret like she’d feared, just a sated bonelessness she’d forgotten she knew how to feel.

He returns accompanied by the scent of her soap, and for some reason she’s self-conscious all over again. She can’t bring herself to look at him naked, so busies herself while he gets dressed, finding her bathrobe where it hangs behind the door and wrapping it around her.

After a safe amount of time she turns, and he’s sitting on the edge of her bed tying his shoelaces. He’s not looking at her, but she can tell from his posture that he’s not yet picked up the burdens he was carrying around earlier. She’s glad.

He runs his fingers through his hair, trying to get it to lie flat, and she bites her lip, remembering how those fingers felt inside of her. How is she going to concentrate at work now? She spends enough time daydreaming about him as it is, now she has actual memories and experience to lose herself in.

He stands, ready to leave sans his coat. “I trust I don’t need to tell you not to mention this to anyone else.”

She nods, giving him her best earnest expression—the same one she wears at work when he assigns a new project to her. “Of course. I won’t say anything.”

The corner of his mouth twitches up in a little smirk. “Good.”

She sees him to the door, and he puts on his coat, popping the collar in preparation for the pouring rain outside. She opens the door for him. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

A secret part of her had been hoping he might stay the night, but her rational side knows she doesn’t fit into his schedule.

“Bright and early, little mouse.” He grins at her and turns to leave.

She snaps the door shut behind him to stop herself from watching him stride away, her cheeks beet red. Tomorrow morning can’t come fast enough.


End file.
